[ Shit. The clone takes note. Right. Deserters...He probably needs to be hostile against this - No. Vorkosigan is liberal. Betan mother. He'll have a practical outlook towards this Vorthys.

(The clone wants to be sick. He's making mistakes. Lots of mistakes. He can't afford to make mistakes. Galen taught him that - he has to be completely perfect in his cover. He needs to learn quickly, learn everything he can from Vorkosigan. Or Naismith. Whoever this is. He can feel the acidic sourness of that cheese in his stomach and wants to go throw it all up right at once. What happens if his cover falls apart? What does Vorkosigan do then?

(Who does he become then?) ]

Thanks. I think.

[ A wry smile covers up all his screaming nerves and chattering thoughts. ]

Anyway, of course I don't intend to kill you. I can't say I'm happy that this whole clone thing is turning out to be true, but that doesn't mean I have any hostility towards you. You didn't ask for this.

[ There. That's about as much kindness as he'd give a clone. Seems plausible. ]